Seeing You, Seeing Me
by kumikoblue
Summary: HGSS Hermione is filled with a strange loss and saddness, which goes unnotices by her friends. How can it be that someone so different could be the only one who understands, who even sees her pain?
1. Wispers on the Wind

Quietly she stands.  
  
Light is still in the sky, and the wind is whispering through the fields. The lake glistens in the fading light, and the air is fresh.  
  
There is a peaceful stillness surrounding Hogwarts this evening.  
  
Which is exactly what Hermione needs. Peaceful Stillness.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
I know I shouldn't have left. I, who am known to be so rational, so rule abiding, that it would be me who would cause a spectacle like that.  
  
And nevertheless, for all that I am known for, will they credit my rushing out with having to do with anything but end-of-year-stress?  
  
All those who don't know me; they will all probably will just think that Harry or Ron did something to offend me, or that I was dumped by some other pimple-faced idiot.  
  
That or that I'm just upset because I missed one of the extra-credit assignments.  
  
Is that all they see in me?  
  
Have they forgotten all that I am? Am I, the person, so easy to forget that all they remember is the hardworking student?  
  
No one will understand.  
  
I know that sounds harsh. But I'm right.  
  
My years before Hogwarts – where not hard, but still, I did not have friends who interested me. I spent my time watching others, tracing thoughts, learning to understand people's emotional patterns.  
  
Not that that ever helped my social life.  
  
But I know people. I know them well enough to realize that none of them will understand.  
  
The wind blows harder.  
  
'You've always loved the wind.' I think, as it blows by my face.  
  
The wind. How it moves, so untamed and free; how simple it is and yet, entirely unexplainable.  
  
Sometimes it's soft, or warm; sometimes harsh and unwelcome.  
  
'Just like change.'  
  
With a sad smile, an ironic smile, I remember the song.  
  
I look around me.  
  
I have abandoned my school robes somewhere on the lawn, trying to escape my troubles. I am now in my favorite jeans and a gray long-sleeved shirt with a small hoodie that I never use; I have too much hair for it to look right.  
  
Normally, it would be too warm to wear a long shirt by this time of year, but today, it is nice and cool.  
  
I am alone.  
  
Everyone is inside, probably completing their homework, socializing, or those in a rush are packing their things.  
Two weeks. Just two and I'll be leaving Hogwarts, perhaps for the final time.  
  
I am a muggle-born in a magical place. All that one could learn from life, I learned here.  
  
After all these years, the castle is still breath taking.  
  
Even after having spent so much of my time here, I will never really know all that there is to find in this place.  
  
And yet, there is an emptiness surrounding Hogwarts this evening. None of the birds sing, and there is no noise coming from the Forbidden Forest.  
  
The only sound you can hear is the wind.  
  
I don't feel self-conscious; there is no one who can see me.  
  
My hair blows from my face, and with my head back I sing:  
  
"Oh Wild Wind,  
Won't you blow?  
And carry me to my love,  
Though I know not were to go.  
I'll spread my wings on  
Your windy back, I'll ride  
Oh blow, while he's willing, wont you blow?"  
  
The last note is still echoing as I turn to resume look over the lake.  
  
I don't have a wonderful voice, but I'm not tone-deaf. I am gifted enough to be allowed to sing, but not so much that I could seriously consider doing it for anything but private pleasure.  
  
Musik is a comfort to me.  
  
Love. I am waiting for a love, I know that. I am currently unattached, and feel no reason to pursue any one interest.  
  
- But is that truly what is causing this emptiness, this... need?  
  
"If it could blow me away form this.... I would go." I whisper softly to the wind.  
  
Love? No, it's much more than that.  
  
My loneliness.  
  
Illogical? I know. I have so many friends. And they love me so. But they don't know.  
  
How could they? I can't tell them.  
  
Someone needs to simply see it. To understand it, acknowledge it. Don't ask me why, or how I know this. But that's the way it is.  
  
Even if it wasn't that way, I can't tell them. I don't know how.  
  
How could I explain something that I do not understand?  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
A/N: Thank you for reading! I am currently working on the next chapter(s); so one should be up in – at the most – two weeks. I am not quite sure how long this story will end up being, but I hope you continue too read it and enjoy it.  
  
-Curious who the mystery man is? He will be revealed in the next chapter!  
  
Feel free to drop me a line at any time!  
  
Reviews will be greatly appreciated, and rewarded with chocolate Easter eggs! 


	2. Understanding Why

There, by the lake stands the single form. She does not know this, but she has been followed.  
  
In the shadow of the castle stands another. Mutely watching her. He does not hear her words, but he can feel them in the air; the loneliness, the confusion. He knows it well.  
  
He will approach her soon. But for now, he watches. Still, and silent, he watches.  
  
-----  
  
You saw her run out of the Great Hall, in the middle of the evening meal.  
  
Like a ghosts she stood, withought sound, her motions quick and uncalculated. She seemed not to hear those who called to her. _'What is the matter?'_ they thought. They did not understand her actions.  
  
She left them behind. Turing her back, withought word, withought explanation.  
  
She left her books, her friends, all but her wand. She left it all behind.  
  
Why?  
  
They asked themselves this. All of them.  
  
They asked her.  
  
'Leave me be,' she whispered.  
  
It is odd you heard her. The Great Hall was, as usual, filled with sounds of a thousand mouths moving at once. But somehow, her desperate plea reached your ears.  
  
How weary she sounded. How tired.  
  
Her friends, if one could call them such; they didn't listen to her plea. Perhaps they did not hear her. But that is no excuse. They should have known.  
  
They chased after her, wishing to bring her back.

_'Wait! Hermione!'_

She kept walking, a swift, steady pace.  
  
They reached her, and spoke to her, presumably biding her to return with them.

You do not know. You did not hear them.  
  
One of them – probably Potter - took her by the elbow, as though to drag her back. This made her stop. Freeze. And then, with cat-like speed, she turned to face them:  
  
"Let. Me. Go."  
  
She spoke with malice, and anger. That's what everyone else heard anyway. But you heard the rest of it, the meaning, the fear, behind her softly spoken words.  
  
By now everyone was watching. The whole school - the students, the teachers. Though they feigned disinterest, they where all watching the drama unfold, withought any of them even understanding, even _seeing_ the most important detail of it all.  
  
Fools.  
  
They let her go of course. What would they have done? If this had happened before, when they had been younger, they might have followed, they might have ignored her wish.  
  
But no. This was different. You knew they saw it; the threat in her eyes, the meaning in her stance. She wanted to be alone. And she would have fought them to do so.  
  
--  
  
You wont admit it, but you where watching her before she ran.  
  
You weren't stalking her, oh no. You had no reason too. You where simply trying too...  
  
Trying to understand.  
  
To understand her, but even more so, to see why.  
  
Why you could feel a... similarity, perhaps, a mirroring of some of yourself in her.  
  
And, perhaps because of this, to know why no one else would simply...  
  
You do not know what you expected them to do.

No one had ever known what to do for you; so you could not know what she needed.  
  
But they called themselves her friends; how could they not? Not see, not respond, not even wonder why she has changed, how she has changed, the subtle differences so obvious to you.  
  
Not long have you known, not long. But you have seen it; the loss, the need in her eyes.  
  
But why is she so? Why?  
  
How can you know of this, this wordless wound, when others so much closer to her do not?  
  
And, perhaps more importantly, when did you first see it?  
  
---  
  
She was in one of the outer courtyards, with a book on her lap, reading. You were walking past. You no longer remember why.  
  
But you stopped.  
  
How odd.

Most students where in the Great Hall at this time in the morning, socializing and scarfing down their breakfasts as fast as they could. Though not unallowed, it was rare to see a student skip the oppertunity to converse with friends before classes, and spend it outside the Hall instead.

You where about to turn away, when you took a closer look at what she was doing.  
  
She appeared like a muggle painting. Unmoving and completely still, with light and shadow flowing around her, around the courtyard. Herself an upset of color in a balance of light and dark.  
  
Though you could see a certain beauty in the image, it contained an air of obscurity. There was no hint at what emotion, what thought the scene was meant to portray.  
  
Once more you turned to walk on. You know you have no time nor need to dwell on any creature's problems besides your own. Besides, Dumbledore had called for you.  
  
But something happened.  
  
The book slipped through her fingers, landing on the floor at her feet.  
  
Thinking she was not well, you slowly turn yourself to her fully, but say nothing.

_'Let the Griffindor ask for aid if she needs it,'_ a small voice in your mind tells you. But a part of you knows that those who are in greater need of such things rarely ask for it.  
  
_'Don't get all fluffy on yourself now Severus.'_ Responds the voice.  
  
You say nothing.  
  
No fingers reached for the book. Her arms, her body lies unmoving.  
  
Slowly, her head moved upward, to the sky.  
Her hair flows past her face, showing it to be striped with tears.  
  
This disturbs you. What could she be doing that would affect her so emotionally?  
  
Her eyes are close, though her face is parallel with the sky. Her face seems to take in none of the Sun's light, though she is directly in its path.  
  
She looks once more, closing her eyes again to take a shuttering breath.  
  
Her mouth remains slightly open, and her throat vibrates wile she releases that breath. She stares at the sky; her eyes weary, her hands shaking faintly.  
  
Your hairs on your hands begin to stand up. You feel it; something is terribly wrong with the girl...  
  
And still you say nothing.  
  
She starts as though undecided. Will she speak? Yes. Slowly, cautiously, she begins:  
  
"Thy soul shall find itself alone

'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone-"  
  
A silent tear falls. A weary half-smile plays upon her lips... With a whisper, eyes firmly closed:  
  
"Not one, of all the crowd, to pry

Into thine hour of secrecy."  
  
Poetry? With her head down, she stares at her hands.  
  
What does she mean?  
  
_'She speaks as though something inside her has died...'_ you think to yourself.  
  
But why? What would make her feel such? How can you know this? And when, by Merlin, have you become a mute?  
  
In your confusion, you must have moved, for she turns to you.  
  
Looking into the shadows, she searches. So much appears upon her face. Fear. Confusion.  
  
Does she see you? No.  
  
But then she finds you.  
  
She stares straight at you, into your eyes, and everything seems to speed up, slow down, and melt together, as though everything where a muggle video- machine that Mr. Weasly had tinkered with, to the point of combustion. You saw so much of her. Her will, her intelligence, her un-natural adult maturity. Her eyes. Pleading. Hoping. Longing. Desperate, and searching...  
  
But for what? What does she want from you?

Another tear rolls slowly, so slowly, down her face. She looks away. Once more, she wispers:

"Be silent in that solitude,

Which is not loneliness--for then" she turns to you once more, her eyes knowing.

"The spirits of the dead who stood

In life before thee are again"

Another tear, as she turns to the sky, her eyes closing slowly. And with a look upon her face as though her world where breaking, she finishes:

"In death around thee--and their will

Shall overshadow thee: be still."

The tears have found their way to her chin, and roll gracefully, carelessly, down her neck.

A saddness fills you, as your heart breaks for her.

The floodgates releace, and there are students streaming out from everywhere.

She wipes her face on her sleaves, and when she is done, the only trace of the pain she felt remains in her eyes, which continue to speak to you when she glances back.

Her friends have come then, and wish to take her away.

_'Hey Herm, whats wrong with your eyes?' 'Yea, they look really red.'_

_'Oh, don't worry about it, its just allergies...'_

They take this as an understandable explanation, and leave it at that; they do not ask again.

As they turn to go, she returns brieflly for her book. Clasping it to her breast, as though to shield herself, she looks to you, one final time.

You couldn't say how long you where both there. You cannot recall. But afterwards, nothing was the same for you, nor the way you viewed her.  
  
---  
  
_'All she needs is a little time. Probably just growing pains.'  
_  
They couldn't see. All of them. Her loneliness, her fear. She would look at them and smile. And that was all they saw; her smile.

--------

A/N

oh, cliffhanger!

Hello all. Sorry it's been so long, but I've been busy. (Sorry excuse, but the only one I've got.)

I hope you like this fic, REVIEW it, and tell all your friends so they can REVIEW it too!

**-**laughs**-**

I've yet to 'officially' start the next chapter, but I'm having a minor case of writers block... there are a few factors, such as whether to end it at the next chapter, or to continue it afterwords... -sighs-

In the next chapter comes "The Confrontation!" unless I come up with something better to put in before it. (ron/harry's/anyone else's point of view???) If you have any suggestions, ideas, wishes, or comments, please REVIEW!

Oh, and if anyone is wondering, the song from the first chapter is called 'Wild Wind' (duh), though I don't know who wrote it; and the poetry from this chapter is the first bit from "The Spirits of the Dead" by Edgar Allan Poe.

To all my reviewers: THANK YOU! I never knew that reviews where this awesome, BUT THEY ARE!

Black-as-Cash: my first reviewer ever! -cries- thanks! This chapter (hopefully) cleared up anything that might have seemed confusing.

CaptainCrash: yea, you guessed right! I feel like Hermione a lot of the time too, so writing her was only challenging, not hard (although, weird enough, I enjoyed writing this chapter more then the first)...

Kiki: I'm glad you like it!

strega-in-progress: thanks for reviewing, hope you liked this chapter too! Wow, pink, who would have thought? ;)

I will probably re-do the first chapter some day, but for now, it's good enough for my standards.

PS, if you want a good read, I highly recommend:

anything written by Wonk

"Annoying Professor Snape" by Numairs-Magelet

"Dream" by Campy Capybara "A Choice of Roads" by Imhilien

And most everything else on my favorite stories.

Well, farewell for now!


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